


Love In A Sense

by Exorbit



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Controversial House Headcanons, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-02-28 07:06:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13266267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exorbit/pseuds/Exorbit
Summary: ...once a majority of necessities have been added to the pot, a distinct smell unlike the odor of a crackling fire presents itself.What is that?Apparently, Shiro’s not the only one who’s noticed; several students begun to waver in front of their own mixture, sniffing their brew with an unusual intensity.Oddly enough, Coran has an expression of smugness towards this development. Pleased, over a breakage of students endangering themselves for an enticing smell. Even Pidge fails to remain aloof, as she’s bringing her nose close. By the flare of her nostrils, she’s inhaling the scent deeply. “Oh, oh man that’s good,” she murmurs, eyes closed.A lightbulb flicks on. “Is that the whole… smell of the person you like thing? Is that what I’m seeing here?”





	1. Chapter 1

Potionwork will never be Shiro’s area of expertise.

Decent potions require precise actions, difficult potions require that fitted with a steady hand. And in Shiro’s case, he’s usually got his nose pressed against the parchment of instructions rather than making those time-specific movements and his dominant hand has a chronically bad case of the jitters.

On some occasion or another, Hunk called him _butterfinger_ _s_ , a comment Shiro still can’t wrap his head around. Sure, there must be a spell to change the bones of your hands into something akin to butter, but he hadn’t ever been hexed in his life. Perhaps it was a medical condition muggleborns were more familiar with.

There was no Hunk to confuse him this time, though. The fifth year Slytherins and the Ravenclaws had been paired together for potions throughout this term. While there was a noticeable absence of Hunk, Shiro really can’t say the trade-off is bad.

After all, now he has potions with _Keith_.

“Today, we’re going to brew one of the more classical – and more violent – love potions. Can anyone,” Professor Smythe, who insists to be called Coran instead, clears his throat at a thought. “That _isn’t_ Holt, tell me the name of the brew I have before me?”

Next to him, Pidge shuffles in her seat. “He knows I know the answer,” she grumbles. “But no. He's got to make it harder for everyone involved.”

“Come on, he’s not trying to spurn you,” Shiro whispers over the chorus of pages turning. “You answer his questions pretty much every time, so nobody else ever learns anything. I get that this is Advanced Potions and that shouldn’t matter, but –”

“Ah, mister Shirogane!” Shiro’s head shoots up to meet the dazzling smile of Coran. “If you’re talking, you must know the answer. Won’t you share with the class?” In his defense, Coran looks more amused than annoyed with Shiro.

Under the table, Pidge nudges his foot in the way of a silent snicker. _Traitor_.

“It’s, uh,” flipping the book rapid-fire would only reveal that he did not in fact know, but Shiro is scrambling badly. Pidge mouths the letter ‘a’ and the words ‘more’ and ‘tent’.

“It’s am.. amort… amortentia?” By the approval in Pidge’s eyes, that’s at least _close_ to right. Shiro struggles to remember that she is a vicious, cruel traitor. “Amortentia. Known as the most powerful love potion ever created.”

There’s pleasant surprise on Coran’s end as well. “That is correct! Ten points to Slytherin, due to students reading their assignments prior,” and that’s absolutely not what _Shiro_ did but he’ll take the compliment.

He supposes it’s good anyway. The addition of points has lessened Pidge’s grudge against the professor.

Coran turns to the blackboard and simultaneously writes while he speaks, “Amortentia, being the most powerful and thus the most dangerous love potion, is contraband in Hogwarts. You _will_ be making a full cauldron, but to turn it in, you are to place it in a cup, vial, whichever. The residue will be expelled properly, or there will be consequences!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees that several Ravenclaw students have already gotten their pots out to be warmed.

Soon e the ough, scent of an artificial fire begins to waft through the room, while the potion’s ingredients are being charted in by Coran. He chatters to the blackboard, while the students are trying to look at the list he’s writing.

As they have nothing else to do but wait for their cauldrons to warm, Pidge says, “I’m glad Lance didn’t sign up for advanced. He’d try to sneak the extra out.”

Seeing Shiro’s quizzical expression, she adds, “Oh, I'm well aware that he’s an old-fashioned romantic. Courting, roses, everything under the moon and more. What I’m saying is, he’d purposefully drink it to fall in love with _himself_.”

“Does that even work?” A small glance at the textbook reveals nothing. Pidge shrugs, unabashed.

“Well, you know. We’re talking about Lance here. He’d at least give it a shot.”

Overhead, the ingredients for amortentia linger in the air as Coran divvies them up individually. The water of Shiro’s cauldron fizzles and pops in heat, so by his wand he separates and chops the stems of the clovenlip. Yet, once a majority of necessities have been added to the pot, a distinct smell unlike the odor of a crackling fire presents itself.

_What is that?_ Apparently, Shiro’s not the only one who’s noticed; several students have begun to waver in front of their own mixture, sniffing their brew with an unusual intensity.

On the adjacent side of the room, Keith’s partner nearly dunks himself in his pot, stopped only by Keith’s hand at his collar dragging him back. There’s an obvious chastisement from Keith, as his fellow Ravenclaw’s cheeks redden.

Oddly enough, Coran has an expression of  _smugness_  towards this development. Pleased, over a breakage of students endangering themselves for an enticing smell. Even Pidge fails to remain aloof, as she’s bringing her nose close. By the flare of her nostrils, she’s inhaling the scent deeply.

“Oh, oh man that’s good,” she murmurs, eyes closed.

A lightbulb flicks on. “Is that the whole… smell of the person you like thing? Is that what I’m seeing here?”

“Sure is,” blinking once, twice, before Pidge fully leans against her seat. “Yeesh. I’ve been called out by my own brew. And yours?” She shoots him a _look_ , raised eyebrow and everything. God. 

Shiro didn’t exactly need a potion to tell him the object of his affections, but. Solely to amuse Pidge, he wafts the scent. For him, the potion smells strongly of watered down grasses, polished metal, and the telltale smell of magicked laundry – with leftover sweat, presumably the result of a strenuous workout. Not exactly the perfect smell, but there's something about it... 

With a hot flush to his face, Shiro recalls that the most recent activity for the Care of Magical Creatures students was to aid in taking count of the nearby kelpie. He's been told that the Ravenclaw dormitory has the most statues out of any of the houses and that–

“Yeah. About the same here.”

“Hmm.” Immediately, he worries about Pidge’s intentions. Now, he trusts her with his life, wiseacre that she is. But right now, he wants her as far away as humanly possible from his personal issues.

Intensely heeding caution, he _very slowly_ tears his eyes from the-not-worrisome-at-all Pidge and back to his bubbling potion. As he pretends to look at the instructions that totally don’t coincidentally hover close to Pidge’s face, he taps the tip of his wand against an inner wall of the cauldron. In response, the potion flares, setting off another round of incense.

For the brief moment Shiro dares to shut his eyes to fully appreciate everything that is _Keith_ , Pidge calls for that man’s attention.

“Kogane!” Said Ravenclaw tosses a glance over his shoulder; he smiles in return to Pidge's overeager waving. Shiro busies himself by burying the majority of his face in his hand, mentally bracing himself. “I haven’t heard you talk about your cauldron,” Pidge tells him. He would expect this from Lance. She is a traitor. “C’mon, tell us, what does it smell like?”

A part, an irrevocably stupid part, of Shiro hopes.

What Shiro was wishing for, if not expecting: maybe a catch of firewood, some knock-off brand of cologne that Shiro bought _solely_ because it was cheap, possibly a name of a sweet Shiro carries around with him. Other answers were also acceptable – Shiro probably didn’t know his own smell that well. Or Keith could have ignored her, nothing to tell that he listened aside from the shy blush on his face because Keith isn’t the type of person to hint at his affections in public.

What Shiro was not expecting: Keith’s nose to crinkle, in a disgusted sort of way, and. “Well, nothing at all, really.”

Without hesitation, Shiro’s still-beating heart drops into the deepest pit of his stomach. Pidge makes an ‘ _ooh_ ’ sound that might pass off as interested to those unaware, but she’s wincing pretty harshly. Well aware of what that means for her buddy, her pal, sitting on the opposite end of the table. Who, at the moment, thinks he might need someone to restart that heart of his.

Unfortunately, though, Shiro’s amortentia still needed to be swirled, so during Keith’s reveal, his wand was deep in the mixture. His wand crackles from the sheer emotional intensity he’s feeling –

So, the brew explodes. The flames beneath meet with the fire of the pot, and a fire ignites. The solid-liquid mash of plants and water is the fire’s kindling.

He’s not ashamed to admit it – Shiro was a part of the small group of people who screamed.

Dark thoughts ahead, as in a daze Shiro wonders if should have been accompanied by a cynical laugh track. 

After the smoke clears, cleared by numerous cracks of Coran’s magic, Shiro is ridiculously grateful to see that his cauldron and wand is still intact. It’s not even scarred by scorch marks, he thinks, like that’ll make him feel any better.

With minimal soot on her face, Pidge clears the leftover smog, banishing it with a quick swish of her wand. In any other situation, Shiro would expect playful reprimanding from her. But all he sees is pity.

_Isn’t this just fantastic,_ he thinks, flicking his wand to clean the muck that was once his potion staining the bottom of the pot. _Not only does Keith_ totally _not like me, I brought everyone’s attention to myself._ _Idiot_ _._ _Idi_ _–_

“Mr. Shirogane, would you please come forward into my office?” Coran’s startling voice breaks him out of the stupor, one he might not have gotten out of by himself. Pidge gives him a nearly inaudible ‘good luck’ before Shiro stands from his chair. He tries not to meet anyone’s gaze when he walks up to Coran.

With the swish of his hand, he gestures Shiro into the office. Teachers tend to guard their spaces, to the extent it's hilarious, but as Ravenclaw Head, Shiro figures that this is more of his closet than his living area.

To avoid the inevitable disappointment etched into every section of Coran’s face, Shiro gives the office a once-over. Potted plants, ancient and definitely abused textbooks, second-hand cauldrons rusting at the sides. There is the _Coran_ touch, obviously, for example, a portion of the plants have teeth at the edges of their petals and the walls are a bright, bright enough purple to be kind of – _really_ ugly.

By a flash of his wand, the neglected chair flies forward, hittings the back of Shiro’s knees and forcibly sits him down. While Shiro’s feet are acting as if they’ve been planted to the ground, Coran has his legs crossed atop of his table. “So, now, you’ll still need to turn in a vial of amortentia.”

“Okay,” he responds. “I’ll get right on it,” and there was more in reassurances, but Coran shakes his head.

“Love potions have to simmer. There’s not enough time left in class for you to make another potion. My plan,” talking over Shiro’s mouth dropping, “is allow you to take the ingredients in a satchel. Do not let any officials see you, particularly Zaal, unless you want to get everyone in trouble.”

No face to the name. Helplessly, “Zaal,” echoes Shiro.

“The teacher for Arithmancy.” Shiro’s face pales; Coran’s tone is falsely chipper. “Ah, so you have heard of him!”

“Uhm, yes. I’ll be sure that he doesn’t see the satchel.” He'd rather be caught in the restricted area of the library. 

“He is a good man, but if you break the rules, he thinks that he ca–”

Maybe in a cosmic sense, it’s karma for Coran cutting Shiro’s interjection. Or it’s the universe saving Shiro from an undue rant.

From the classroom, there is a harsh, nearly bloodcurdling _screech._ Both of them stand at the same time, which is when as the screech turns into a loud explosion of its own. “ _FUCK_!”

Under his breath, Coran hisses out nonsense, something that sounds like _oh quiznak_. That, that is a question for later. Much later. 

Wands drawn and at the ready, the two charge into the room to see a Slytherin student dunked in a potion that smells horribly, horribly Keith-like – amortentia. Upon eye contact with Coran, she draws up her soaked robe and points at a fellow Slytherin who looks as though he’d prefer to be anywhere other than here. The girl looks as though she’d prefer to be cursed to fall in love with anyone else.

She wails, “He tried to get smart with putting the potion in the bottle! It went _everywhere_!”

Just barring himself from sending them all out, Coran opts to tell Pidge to escort the girl to the nurse.

“So.” His gaze sweeps over the classroom. “Who knows what the love reversal potion is called? Fifteen points,” he adds when everyone pales.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pt.2 should be tomorrow. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Zaal doesn’t see the satchel, nor does he see the ingredients. Which, given he’s working on the potion in a public forum of sorts, is insanely lucky.

Intentions have been... skewed, however, of where they're going to hide out. To work on a highly illegal potion. That they're not even supposed to have the ingredients for.

Perhaps the universe is watching, judging them.

Together, Pidge and Shiro come down to their dorm, absentmindedly discussing how Shiro was going to make his second brew for the entirety of their walk downward. They cross into the dungeons in the same step, although Shiro has to mind his head due to the low arch.

Then he actually _looks_ inside. Sweat, if he had any left, would have vanished instantly  from how dry his skin gets. The exact moment Pidge realizes, she groans.

It’s as though the day can't, or really _won’t_ stop messing with Shiro.

“We can’t do this here.”

“I’m so screwed.” _What did I do to deserve this,_ he thinks. Is this his punishment for skipping Transfiguration that one time? 

Pidge's hand cups her chin, a soft movement in contrast to her harsh glaring at the interior of the dungeons. “Why did it have to be dungeons? Stifling, if you so much as spray cologne every Slytherin in a three-mile radius will smell it.”

“And you can’t even open the windows,” his voice is horribly feeble. Pathetic in measures. “Because we simply had to be underground circling the lake.”

“That is such a design flaw, honestly.” She’s the first to turn on her heel, already walking back up the stairs. “Like, what happens when a temperamental student breaks the windows? Not even on purpose, just some charged spell going haywire, next thing you know...”

Figuring that there's nothing else to do, Shiro follows her lead. “They’ve got to be charmed somehow. Right?” He noticeably lingers behind, keeping Pidge a good pace ahead. 

“Can we know for sure? Hogwarts is weird. Whoever built this place could have _just_ put the dungeons underground, but no.” They meet the second to last staircase leading to the dungeons. The number when going backward, though…

“No, of course, we had to have a cool area of water. Let's show the students mermaids! Hufflepuffs?" She temporarily stops in her pace and spreads her arms out. She's been spending too much time with Keith, maybe. "Oh, they get the kitchen. That's fair. Did you know that the squid tends to pass by the windows at night?” 

“Last I heard, he still enjoys taunting the newcomers.”

“God, yeah. Scared the shit out of me the first time I saw ‘im. And I don’t think animals can laugh, but I do think they can _smile_.”

By the end of their reroute, they’re similarly winded. Through their walk, or rather climb, Pidge has voiced numerous complaints about her luggage, wishing that her classes weren’t so heavily book focused. Shiro’s concern has been the satchel and other bag garnering attention, but it seems as though people are more focused on their small puffs of air.

Namely, Lance.

“What’d you guys do? Run a marathon?” Hunk’s apology for Lance has the guy reflexively squawk, feathers ruffled and all. “Hey, look at them, they’re both pretty well built! It must have been _something_ to drain them.”

“I’ve had a long day.” Understatement. “Right now my single, sole want is to get this potion finished. After that, I'm going to bed.”

“We’ve heard.” Before Shiro can even bother mustering up a glower, Pidge nudges Hunk by the foot. The guy has the decency to be flustered. “Uh, I mean. Not like it’s going around campus or anything. I just –”

“He gets it. There are gossips. More importantly, I’m helping him out on a project. Do you two want to come or no?”

That's that. Certainly a quick, painless way to kill the conversation. If they won't be working no the dormitory/creepy minimal space dungeon, it'll be another of their usual haunts; a dingy lounge tucked in an odd corner of the school. 

( Lance had found it, actually; Its discovery was the result of one of Lance’s late-night escapades. 

According to him, the story went, “So there I am, fleeing with Honvera on my trail. I swear, she’s a witch in every meaning of the term, and being an alchemy teacher if she caught me I would return different. My heart was hammering, but my brain was daring!” His initial retelling of would be his weirdest.

 _Rolling her eyes_ was the least of what Pidge would do during the conversation. “We all know you tripped.”

“I did not.” Lance sniffed. I  _chose_  to slide.” 

As he flipped a page in his Charms book, Hunk piped up, "You did that sort of thing before you wanted to get serious with Allura."

"Hey! No. _No_. We aren't getting serious."

"Yet. Not yet." Hunk; betrayer in spades. No wonder the team of _Pidge and Hunk_ works so well. ) 

Vibrant house banners cover the archway, giving the impression of house pride rather than a cozy den, blessed through being overlooked. The interior is better by many strides; there is the occasional knick-knack of a snake or lion, but the colors are solidly neutral. There's a scatter of items they've left, typically junk like these strange things called 'pens' from Hunk and Lance, dried inkwells from Pidge and Keith, but there's a decent amount of blankets for the cold from Allura and Shiro.

It's homely, in the good way. 

Each picking their individual area, Lance curls up against the edge of the couch, whereas Hunk sits on the nearby bench. As usual, Shiro goes for the back corner, with Pidge only trailing behind as she is going to ‘help’. The jury is out on that one for now. Otherwise, she tends the windowsill, curling against it akin to a cat. 

Sadly, the catnap will have to wait. The artificial fire has to be charmed by both of them, lest it breaks out again. As Shiro tends to the water, Pidge hacks at the plants… with her bare hands?

“Better when you put a bit of humanity into it,” she says, not looking up from her work. “Otherwise potions just reek of magic.”

Upon mentally recounting Pidge's high marks, Shiro tears at the rest of the ingredients. Just as the smell begins to rise from the pot, someone gives a banner outside a soft rapt, then a  _bang_. From the rapt alone, Pidge and Shiro tense, giving the potion a stare down as though it had taken their mail 'til they make fearful eye contact. The bang nearly gives every attending person an aneurysm. 

But instead of a teacher, it’s one of the other haunters of the room – Keith. “Hey,” he says as he walks in, having not processed the atmosphere whatsoever. “I was waiting for you guys in the hall. Once I realized you weren’t going to be there, I figured you’d be in here.” 

“Hey, you’re always welcome to drop in.” And no, Pidge, Shiro does not squeak towards the end of his sentence. “This is your space as much as it is ours.”

Disregarding Keith, everyone in the room immediately stops looking at Shiro. The two Hufflepuffs are now intensely fascinated with the fabric of the couch. Pidge is morosely picking at long lines of her wand. When Shiro wonders if he's _that_ obvious, he recounts the wrinkle of Keith's nose prior to the bombshell. 

Ow. 

 _But he sought you out,_ his mind tries. He won't even throw rocks into the lake, too scared of hitting passing by wildlife. _There's no way he's trying to rub your nose in it_. Still ignorant, or acting like it, Keith goes to his own section in the lounge to relax. From his sling, he reaches for a book, a favorite of his if Shiro is recalling correctly... 

In the edge of his vision, he sees Pidge's hands still on the wood. "Uh, Shiro." 

"We are not doing this here." Unimpressed, Pidge finally stops messing with the wand. 

"The amortentia needs to be swirled, but I gotta go. I'll be back, but, uh," her fingers twitch in what might definitely be in Keith's direction, “I'm asking if you're gonna be able to stir the potion on your own?” She does genuinely seem guilty about her own body's needs. 

Well. In theory, she should be gone for only five minutes. Shiro can handle being on his kind of lonesome with Keith.

It'll be fine.

Obviously. 

“Yeah, I should be. You go on ahead.”

Pidge regards him carefully right up to the moment she's out of sight. Seemingly engrossed in his novel, Keith only gives her a lazy wave before returning the pages. From the opposite side of the lounge, there's hushed chatter from the dynamic duo, Hunk and Lance; Shiro barely catches the words ' _charm spell'_ and ' _variation'..._ and Shiro takes a moment to give his heart out to Alfor for having to deal with their antics. 

They're his best students, but at what cost? Literally financial, from damages that magic can't fix. 

When Shiro dips his wand into the liquid, he discovers that hand remembers the incident in class. His hand quivers uncontrollably, bracing itself for light crawling up his skin, and his wand gives out an uncertain spark. Shiro's fingers curl tighter in response, easing the shaking somewhat. Completely focused on not causing a fire. Thus, he's not quite paying attention to how he turns his wind in water.

“You’re doing it wrong."

Shiro hadn’t even heard Keith walk up, but there he is, standing right behind him in all of his glory.

 _He’s so close, he’s so very close_ ; Shiro’s mind runs into the depths of the gutter. If Shiro was faced the other way, if he was standing up, he could kiss him with ease; he’d either have to pick Keith up or bend down – neither of which is practically hard.

Shiro wets his lips.

Perfectly unaware, Keith merely puts his arm around Shiro’s side and grabs his wand hand, his fingers gently threading through his. Keith’s hand, as Shiro feels it, are just as warm without his gloves. “Let me show you. First, it’s counterclockwise,” he guides Shiro’s hand and he makes a happy noise when he finds that there’s no resistance, “then clockwise twice. There's a rhythm, just like this.”

As Keith works Shiro through the long, drawn-out process, the sheen thins out, less the color of a pearl and more transparent like water. With a short inhale, he smells Keith, but he can’t tell if it’s from the man standing behind him or the potion.

Does it matter?

Keith's hand loosens around Shiro's. But it's still there. “Okay,” and it’s got be a trick of the mind, but it sounds suspiciously similar to a hum, “it's basically done, now. Amortentia needs time to sit out, so give it… I don’t know, ten minutes before moving it.”

“Okay,” Shiro repeats due to his brain currently being little better than mush.

Glancing anxiously to the the background, he sees that Hunk and Lance have, at some point, angled themselves so that they’re facing and talking to the wall. Bless them both, for trying at an illusion of privacy. “I – thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” 

The dim purple of Keith’s eyes glimmer; bemusement. “I saw you wreck that brew earlier.” There’s no malice in his voice, but Keith stammers after he realizes how it'll sound. “That is, I mean, Coran said mine was passable, so I figured I could help out here since apparently, this wasn’t your time to shine or anything. And you didn’t seem to mind?”

From the intimacy, Keith's shrug brings his chest onto Shiro's back. He hopes that Keith doesn't notice how shaky his exhale is. "No, I really do appreciate it. I'm just going to," he gestures towards the satchel, with its bottle and all. "Wait." 

"Sure. I hope Coran's slightly more forgiving than usual." Unfortunately for Shiro's affections, Keith steps backward, to return to his chair. But it's not like they wouldn't have parted otherwise, now with his mouth being desert dry. 

 _God, yeah. I am completely and totally obvious._ "I'm going to get water," Shiro kicks the chair away, with one hand groping the innards of the satchel for the cup he brought along. "Anyone want anything?" 

"My innocence back," Lance chirps. 

Hunk happily adds, "Could you bring me my patience?" 

Keith shakes his head disapprovingly. The three were friends, but the irreplaceable quality of _voice of reason_ lessens the further you draw from Hunk. "I'll take some water. Do you only have two bottles? One for the potion and one for a drink?" 

"Yeah." 

"Oh, then, we can share." If Shiro's brain wasn't goo beforehand. "If that's alright with you?"  

From their spot against the wall, Lance says something that he better not hope is 'he would love to,' only muffled by Hunk clapping him on the shoulder. As Lance voices his exaggerated in detail complaints, Shiro nods. 

"Thanks." Keith smiles and Shiro has to fight himself to not stumble. "I'm going with you to get Pidge, I think she might be holed up. Don't wait up or anything." 

Because Keith, and Pidge if he finds her, will surely take longer. Unreasonably, fountains are littered across the school, but bathrooms are pretty much only near the dormitories. The official reason is for security purposes. Specifically, so that cross-house relationships don't get into the eighteen plus zone, but there are incredibly easy ways of getting past it. 

Hogwarts was asked a question and answered in the completely wrong way. And now they all suffer. 

*****

Distance to the bathroom is the least of Shiro's problems. 

Three huddle in a circle around the desk where Shiro sits. The bravest out of them, Pidge, breaks the silence. Wearily so. "You're joking." 

"I wish," Shiro twirls the cup in his hand, which had been a few inches taller minutes ago. There are two glasses, one filled with amortentia, the other filled with water.

The cup he will be giving to Coran has considerably less volume. 

"Why would Keith," Hunk reaches for the glass and palms it, slowly, when Shiro hands it over, "drink a love potion? He saw you make it." 

"But he didn't see what he had poured into what cup," Pidge points out, albeit not happily. 

No one is happy about this.

As expected, Shiro had returned to the lounge before either Keith or Pidge did. During that span of time, the cool down limit for the potion had been met, so Shiro had filled the other glass, rid the remaining brew. That was supposed to be it: have an indirect kiss with Keith, hand in the vial to Coran, then go back to the dormitory and partake in sleep to end this day. 

Of course, this is the day that never ends. And it wasn't like anyone saw Keith do it, there was no opportunity to cry out _wait_ and fix his mistake. Hell, had it not been for the fact Shiro had caught Keith red-handed, putting he cup down, he probably wouldn't have noticed until much later. 

The sight left him speechless. Keith cleaned his mouth, uttered a breathy 'thank you,' before going on about how he had assignments to do, but it was nice to drop in and help, and if you ever need me you know where to find me, okay Shiro?

Dumbly, Shiro nodded, watching Keith walk away. Upon his exit, he crumbled onto the chair wordlessly and was immediately assaulted by his remaining friends, who were shouting over one another with questions concerning his dazed state.

“Maybe you forgot which was which? Maybe Keith really _did_ drink the water.” A beacon of hope, Hunk.

“There’s only one way to find out,” says Lance, deadly serious in tone. Before anyone has the chance to stop him, he grabs the remaining glass and chugs it in full.

For the second time today, Shiro is stunned into silence – as is everyone else, as they're helpless but to watch the bob of Lance’s throat. He takes it away from his lips with a small ‘ _ah’_ and he wipes off any lingering potion-maybe-water with the sleeve of his robe.

“Lance,” Pidge starts. He responds by raising his hand in a _stop_ motion. Nevertheless, “Why would you do that.”

Several beats pass by before Lance drops the hand. “Okay. Seems that I’m not in love with Shiro. Not anymore than usual, anyway.”

“Nobody tell Allura,” deadpans Pidge. Lance shoots her a withering glare with practically no heat. “And you know you could have smelled it, right?”

“...only two ways to find out.” Slowly, Hunk brings his hand to Lance’s drooped shoulder.

"Keith should have gone hog wild, though." He and Lance sigh at the other two's confused expressions. "It's... nevermind. Basically, he should have been clinging to your robes a few seconds later. And by now, he should have bolted in here to see you." 

"No offense, but hopefully for Keith's sanity, maybe he's just that bad with potions? That it didn't even effect Keith?" 

Pidge brightens at the prospect. "That would explain–"

"Keith helped me with it," Shiro cuts in, flatly. "And Coran gave him a good score, so... pretty sure that was amortentia we made." 

At ' _amortentia_ ,' Hunk places the cup onto the table in a such a manner. Out of context, Shiro would assume that Hunk had burned himself from how he's cupping his hand. The urge to throttle himself peaks again in Shiro, but not to the point where he acts it out.

"Well," Lance says, voice low. "What now, team?" 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Love. Capital L. What people go to home to, what people go to war for.

There’s no solid definition for it. Each person has their own unique experience, a sensation that can’t be replicated.

How Shiro feels when he sees Keith, in all of his unruly glory – wild, splayed hair, sharp eyes the color of violets, his lips are pursed in an almost permanent scowl until he sees his friends, until he sees _Shiro_ –

Er.

Who’s to say that is Love? Love, in the epitome, in the eternal? Suffice to say, what is it?

What is love?

“Baby don’t hurt me,” the opera-primed voice of Lance startles Shiro out of his existential crisis. “Don’t hurt me, no more.”

Hunk replies, with one hand braced against in temple for an incoming headache, the other cradling the spine of his book. “That song is older than you. By literal decades.”

Shiro and Pidge share a similarly dazed look. At least they’re lost at sea together.

Decidedly spurned, Lance splutters aimlessly at Hunk. “It’s a classic! You can’t ignore music because of its age… and hey, I know you don’t! I heard you playing _Purple Rain_ just the other day, Hunk.”

Eyes alight, Pidge chimes in, “Are you two talking about acid?”

“Nah,” Hunk responds, followed by him putting a hand on Pidge’s shoulder when she visibly deflates. “Lance is just messing around. Not to mention, it would have to be super concentrated to be purple. As in, Earth-is-now-evacuated-for-eternity type of concentration.”

Pidge groans. “We have magic. Shouldn’t we just be able to turn change water to whatever want?”

“That’s what food coloring is for,” Lance says, a bit muffled as one of his cheeks is firmly implemented onto a corner of the hardwood table. “Cheaper and it won’t come with any wand explosions!”

With a decent amount of restrain, Shiro manages to just wave a book in front of Lance’s face, “Don’t you think you should be reading?”

In reality, Shiro’s guilty as well. All of them are supposed to reading; throughout the past half-hour, each of them has thumbed through novel after novel. Shiro’s read about _potions_ and _counteracts to potions_ so much, potions has stopped looking like a word.

Lance makes a noise. Unhappy and wanting everyone to know it.

Against his better judgment, Shiro prods him; “Come on, I know you don’t _actually_ want Keith to come thundering down the halls.”

“Dude! Okay, like, you’ve got to understand that I’ve been looking. And looking. And lo– ”

Upon noticing Pidge rolling her eyes, somewhat good-naturedly, he closes his mouth.

After he allows himself a second to clear his throat, he continues, “You get the point. I have discovered horrifying things, and believe me, none of them are relevant. You know Daibazaal wrote a book? An actual, genuine book, about love. Love in each of its various forms, he says.”

Shiro relents. “Do tell.”

“Honestly, I cannot.” Reluctant, though, Lance bites his lip.

“Lance, you have my permission,” Hunk says. “I am terrified, but too curious for my own good.”

In response, Lance bangs his head on the table, impact several good inches away from the book. Said book gives a small bounce to his thrashing; with a squeal Lance he shoves it to Hunk.

He’s talking, but not before tapping the book erratically. “Like! Like, this is something you have to see, read, to believe. His main comparison is that love is like a black lion. In his exact words, fierce, hard to find, requires a straggling amount of trust so that the beast doesn’t maul you. Except, you know, disregarding the fact that _black lions don’t even exist!_ ”

“Alright, alright. Lance.” Bless Hunk for not wanting to throttle him.

“You need to calm down a bit. Take it down a few pegs. Everything’s going to be really fine. The chaos will end soon.” Neither Lance nor Hunk, the latter despite being the one who’s speaking, look convinced in the slightest.

“None of this makes any sense,” and now that Pidge is joining Team Cynic, the well-being of both Shiro and Keith deteriorates. “Why did he drink the potion?”

“Why does Keith do anything?”

Unhesitatingly, Shiro snaps, “Lance.”

“He is a mystery, though! A long-legged, ripping-chest of a man– seriously, have you seen him without a shirt on,” and now Shiro’s brain is fried, thanks for that one, “it’s crazy. Illegal. Everything about him is in reverse, backwards.”

Pidge snorts from behind the pages of her book.

“Listen to me, listen to Lancey Lance. What I say is, he is practically the poster child for an antihero that is emo, brooding, alongside being the kinda guy who has a tragic backstory so sad that will make you cry. Yet here I am, half expecting for him to tout that he's never done anything wrong in in his life, ever.”

“Ugh. You have not yet re-earned your Parks and Rec privileges.” Hunk is barely keeping himself from smiling, Shiro can tell. Albeit the quirk of the side of his mouth kind of gives it away.

“So now that the two of you are once again... swapping jokes that neither I nor Shiro will understand… I’m taking control as the conductor. We are getting this train back on track.”

But, curiosity killed the cat. Pidge isn’t looking any anyone in the room when she asks, “I do want to know. Before that, where were you going with Keith being a mystery?”

“Fair,” in contrast Lance is sighing, an action Shiro envies he can do without being questioned, “Hogwarts needs Wi-Fi. Badly. We got outlets, at long last, but no data.”

“Anyway,” he loudly exclaims upon accurately reading that Shiro and Pidge are about to tell him _to get on with it_ , “Keith is picture-perfect for goth.”

An eyebrow raise from Pidge. “What is –”

“You don’t wanna know. Hunk?”

Hunk nods, head bobbing up from the novel he’s reading. “You don’t wanna know, man.”

“But despite him being a candidate for the next Devil May Cry protagonist, again, seriously, you don’t wanna know, you two stay under your magicked rock the shape of the moon; he’s not at all… like that. Only softies go into Care of Magical Creatures. It’s one of Keith’s favorite classes. Out of context, without seeing him, you’d assume that he’s little more than a lamb.”

Each and every one of them looks surprised. He doesn’t lift his head; rather, Hunk nudges Lance by the elbow. “Lance? You? Complimenting Keith? Usually you only do that when he saves your spell from wreaking havoc across campus.”

“He’s so cool,” Lance whines. “Like a one of those people you see on movie posters. But then you see him petting invisible horses. He drinks love potions on accident. He goes into the library when he doesn’t have to!”

“Shiro’s right, though,” Hunk interrupts – only he’s nose-deep in a book, probably having just realized that they got distracted for the fifth time this afternoon. “We do need to crack the case. I dunno about you, but I’m not eager to explain to the nurse why we need a bezoar’s head. Much less why we’re going to need to shove it down Keith’s throat.”

“TMI,” says Lance. “Even for you, Hunk.”

“I… I wasn’t… you know what, okay. You’re right. Pidge, do you have a moment to put a R18 sticker on the door?”

She considers it for the grand total of one second. “Why would I have a – oh, yeah, actually, hang on. Shiro, my bag’s on your end, do you mind?”

He nudges her satchel with the heel of his foot. After some rummaging, a mostly-empty stickersheet appears.

Lance speaks up. “Do I want to know why you have that?”

“It was Matt,” Hunk makes an agreeing noise; “I found out that he kept putting them on teacher’s doors so he wouldn’t have to class. _I don’t have a guardian with me nor do I have permission_ , he said.”

“Can I borrow it?” Everyone glowers at Lance’s grabby-hand motions. He amends, “I will not use it for evil.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“No,” he admits. “But I’ll find a use eventually.”

Pidge peels off a R18 sticker and he thinks that’ll be the end of it. But at least Shiro isn’t the only one startled by her forking the sheet over. Hunk’s eyes widen, hardly better than a jaw drop.

“Don’t put it on anything important,” she warns. “I think he added a glue charm to them, they had one hell of a time getting the stickers off the doors. And nothing too noticeable, either, they specifically gave the stickers to me to hold onto.”

“Consider it done,” Lance says – clearly pleased with this turn of events. Humming, he moves his things around as to keep the stickersheet flat in his bag.

“And with that, I think our impromptu study session is done. I’m sorry, Shiro.” By the nervous flicker in her face, Pidge does genuinely feel bad about it.

“Hopefully Keith will be okay. And, uh, that Coran will be okay with it too.” From the corner of his eye, there is Hunk, crossing his fingers and.

And.

Oh shit.

He forgot about that. In the back of his panic-muddled mind, Shiro feels the blood drain from his face.

With pity in his eyes, Hunk says, “Time flies by when you’re having fun…?”

Lance interjects with one word.

“ _Run_.”

*****

Bless Coran, Shiro supposes, upon reflection. Hindsight is twenty/twenty.

To his delight, Coran doesn’t really comment anything, really. Not Shiro coming up to his classroom wildly after hours. Not on the contents on the vial.

Probably because the two of them had just engaged in something very illegal, that Shiro didn’t really have to do, that could have ended with Zaal attempting to make a love potion of his own.

Or, rather, tell his wife Honvera the news. Then she’d take it into her own hands to make one, because in her opinion if you’re going to make a highly regulated potion, you should at least do it right. Which, hey, each to their own, Shiro figures.

Wordlessly, Shiro hands the bottle to Coran; as soon as it’s in his hand, Coran wafts the scent.  “Excellent, my boy. Yes, this will do just fine.”

Shiro hopes that he had just hallucinated the eager twitch of Coran’s mustache.

And when Shiro is about to make his great escape, Coran waves him over. “But do come over here.”

Somehow, despite his heart dropping into the pits of his stomach, Shiro shuffles next to Coran. “Keep this between us,” alright, he’s fucked, “but I couldn’t help but notice –”

“Professor, I –”

He’s cut off with Coran’s – laughter. “Don’t be so humble, I haven’t even told you yet! Shiro, you are one of my best students, very reliable. Your peer’s potion also had an accident… as you might imagine, there are harder things to brew than amortentia. But I knew I could trust you.”

Well. This would be gut-wrenching outside of the weighty guilt he’s feeling, really. 

“Thank you,” his voice cracks and it passes off as an emotional moment. “I appreciate that.”

Coran steps away, scene over, focus turned to his coursework. Shiro stops himself from wiping the sweat collecting off of his brow.

“I don’t mean to intrude.” He means to intrude. Shiro edges the doorway. “But am I free to go?” To get out of here before his stomach tears itself asunder. To get out of here before Keith can get here.

“Of course,” Coran doesn’t look up from his desk; happy to drown in some endless stack of paperwork. “Next class period I’ll be giving the grades, obviously, but it does have the distinct smell of amortentia. You did a fantastic job.”

“Haha.” It is as crisp as a laugh can be. “Really, thank you, professor.”

“It’s Cor… oh. Shiro?” He lifts his head to an empty office. “Shiro! Ah, students,” dismissively, he returns to his papers.

*****

While it may be the day that never ends, Shiro isn’t nearly exhausted enough to skip dinner.

In an unnecessarily dramatic manner, he goes to the mess hall by his lonesome for about twenty minutes. The entirety of which is spent chewing on a meal he doesn’t care to name or place. Pidge sees him, reflexively winces, and then sits several chairs across from him.

His behavior is odd enough to be noticed. People have a tendency to crowd Shiro, for some weird reason. ( “It’s the chiseled jaw,” claims Hunk, but Shiro has his doubts. ) Perhaps they can read him, though, as throughout his sulking episode, not one person sits close.

That doesn’t keep people from talking, though.

While the collective chatter of the Great Hall keeps anyone from another table from eavesdropping, Matt's failure to rouse Keith is visible. Now and again Matt pokes and prods at Keith, who shrugs him off if he bothers to respond.  _Emotional_  may as well be Keith's middle name, but this level of quiet is inane. 

Pleadingly, Matt tugs at one of his sleeve of his robes only to be waved away by Keith. Their peers choose to either shuffle away from the scene or ‘naturally lean in’ towards their table.

As for the students seated at the other tables, they begin their guesswork.

"Is unusual paleness a sign of the potion taking in? Oh, no, we've got to get him to leave the hall. If he tackles Shiro here, nobody will ever let him live it down." 

"Hunk," Lance says around a mouth full of food, "I don't think so. Keith's as white as a ghost on a day to day basis." 

"He's not really touching his food." Regardless of the seriousness of the situation, the defensive tone is unintentional on Hunk’s part. "What about that?"

Not sold on the idea of choking, Lance swallows his food prior to speaking again. "I'm starting to get the impression that this is none of our business.”

Hunk stills, considering. Privacy – hardly better than an abstract conversation when one brushes shoulders with the same people in the same space.

“Okay then,” he says, eyebrow raised. “Sure.”

Upon Hunk’s noisy fork scraping, Lance grumbles. “You know that I’m being serious here.” The ear-grating _skkrtch_ stops.  “I don’t know what exactly is going on, I don’t want to. Better to let them figure it out and then tell us.”

“Well, you know, it’s just,” _skkrtch,_ “Keith’s my friend and so is Shiro and I don’t want there to be any bad rumors because of something that’s not their fault,” _skkrtch._

Pause.

_Skkrtch._

“Beside kind of Keith’s? Sort of? Given he did drink the potion and I don’t know maybe,” _skkrtch,_ “he should have known, why didn’t he know? Why would you drink a love potion?”

“Hunk.”

Lance grabs Hunk’s wrist, a little forcefully if he says so himself. Someone adjacent and capable of hearing lets out a relieved sigh.

“What? What am I doing?”

“Are you done with your food or are you playing with your plate?”

“I’m not messing around with my food,” says Hunk. “Not my plate, either, what are you talking ab– oh. Uh.” At the several long slivers cut into his plate, his face heats. “Sorry.” 

“It’s cool, although if anyone’s leg should be bouncing it should be mine.” The table shakes, lightly. “You know who Pidge goes running to every time Shiro does something weird? Everything’s coming up bad news. It’s almost as if she thinks I have him on a pedestal or something.”

“Right, because why would you?”

Due to missing the doubled-down accusation, Lance’s leg continues to jump in thought. “If Shiro hadn’t come into the den with the potion, Pidge would have told me. She always tells me.”

To quell his developing headache, Hunk presses down on his temple. “Do they just… not have secrets or something?”

He scoffs, disbelieving, perhaps a touch of envy for Hunk. Reading between the lines is a horrible skill to be blessed with. “More like they think they have secrets. Whatever Pidge realizes is too personal to share, it’s obvious to the rest of us.”

In the split-second that Lance’s instincts betray him, his gaze falters away from Hunk to Keith. His eyes snap back in fear of being caught.

Yet, of course, the damage is done.

“…ooooh.” Interest, until recollection. “Owh.” 

One of Lance’s eyes is twitching. No light is hanging in front of their faces, with the chandeliers some fifty feet above the tables. “Nowhere to go but downward, Hunk,” Lance says. “Buckle up.”

“Is that why he didn’t –”

“It’s a running theory.”

“Hypothesis,” he gently corrects. Albeit the both of them know it won’t stick.

“Ah, memories. I haven’t heard that word since we were in school.” He pauses; lost in thought. “Er, our other school.”

Except, that means, “Lance, you can’t keep sleeping through classes. Magic is a science –”

“Ohhh my God.”

“I know, isn’t it great, and it has its roots in theorem because of the Industrial Revolution that introduced new ideas of how to implement mag– stop being so dramatic.”

Lance has his head buried in his hands. Grasping, as his nails are scratching at his scalp.

“I’m not helping you in this course if you fail!” Nevertheless another chastising is imminent.

“Right now I’m trying to survive two lovers who don’t realize that they’re lovers. The professor is the least of my worries.”

Anyone else would call what Lance is doing with his hands flailing; he calls it _gesticulating_ , gesturing to Keith – still being peck peck peck-ed down by Matt – and Shiro.

Shiro and demure: now synonyms.

“Say it too loud and we’re going to get weird looks,” Hunk murmurs. The sudden and violent stabbing of Lance’s plate is a redirect of an angry response.

*****

Tomorrow comes by in a number of hours. That’s including the insomnia despite exhaustion had him listlessly rolling and turning about in bed. From adjacent bedding, he’s slightly bitter to watch Pidge having considerably less trouble getting into bed than he did.

Eventually, Shiro does fall asleep, worries fading away into a dreamless sleep.

There’s no morning light streaming into the dungeon, given it is a dungeon. Initially, Shiro had preferred the absence of sunshine. No heat beyond the eyes, only the gentle lap of water rocking against the windows.

Light blue and turquoise fractures tear apart the ground. Footsteps and boots clatter, the noise of students readying themselves for classes ahead. A bewitched blowdryer’s racket rouses him from the last tendrils of rest, and Shiro wakes to dread curling tight in his gut.

Great. That’s going to be his day, then. With the back of his hand, he scrubs the sleep out of his eyes and peers out away from his blankets.

The witch, certainly gifted with great hair, gives him an apologetic smile in due misunderstanding. Shiro doesn’t think too much of it, he’s definitely in a mood bad enough that unnecessary conversation is _very_ unnecessary.

He tests the floor with a toe. It’s cold; cold shoots up his spine. The bed of warmth beckons him but Shiro stands and cracks his body with a stretch.

Early-bird Pidge is practically prepared. If anything, her hair is being temperamental, not wanting to stick – disregarding the heinous amounts of gel and her hand motions in her hair.

“G’morning,” she says upon seeing him from the corner of her eye. “Hear of anything?”

“The campus hasn’t been burned down,” he offers, in regards to being positive. “And I didn’t get taken out of bed. I think everything’s okay.”

“That is so weird,” spoken around a grimace from her hair’s unrelenting refusal. “I wonder why it didn’t work. Lance and I were discussing it after dinner and I think he did find something in Zaal’s book. Wouldn’t stop frowning and everything.”

“And he opted to not tell us.”

“We are talking about Lance, here.” Shiro shrugs because. Yeah. “Hey, do you have any ideas as to what he’s going to use those stickers for? On, I guess.”

He wracks his brain to remember as he wrestles on his knee-high socks. Cheerfully recollecting the bright-red rectangles, that had littered the doors a few weeks ago. “Trouble. Not too bad or Hunk would talk him out of it.”

There is a pregnant pause from Pidge. Slowly, she says, “Speaking of trouble, we have herbology today.”

Shiro hums, “Uh huh.”

“In the afternoon,” she adds.

“Pidge, where are you going with this?”

“I just thought you should know,” in a tone of false cheer, “we’re scheduled with the Ravenclaw class today.”

His robe slips out of his fingers. He’s thankful he has to bend over as to hide his burning face. “Oh.”

“If nothing happened yesterday, maybe nothing will happen today?” An audible crossing of the fingers, like Hunk had the right idea.

 _Unless it’s really, really delayed_ , Shiro despairs. That would be his luck: effects offset by a day and thensome. “How long are we going to worry about this?” Shiro asks.

“Hopefully not forever. That would be too long.”

Admittedly, it’s not forever because Shiro doesn’t think he could keep his mouth shut for such a lengthy period of time.

Nonetheless, his heart catches in his throat when he finds Keith in the crowd.

As a whole, they’re jostling through the pathway to the greenhouse. The afternoon sun can’t quite shake off the temperature and if it wasn’t for charms and the like, the fields would be frostbitten. On the other hands, the robes don’t spare the students and everyone’s trying to get to the sweltering garden.

At least, that’s what Shiro tells himself to excuse his rush. Pidge might have darkly muttered something in regards to his newfound nervous attitude; selective hearing is good for the soul.

His peers part for their professor, first-name Ryner, as she makes her way to the greenhouse. Momentarily in his peripheral vision is Keith, and after being noticed he has Shiro’s full and undivided attention. Winter’s gotten Keith, too, with his vibrantly flushed cheeks and his hat is pulled down further than usual.

Shiro gulps. Out in the distance a harp sings.

Artificial heat seeps into each of them, various classmates opting to remove their robes entirely. Nobody’s dressed up for the class; preferring casual wear underneath than the standard vests and button-ups due to the nature of the class.

Ryner’s speaking but Shiro can’t help but analyze wardrobe choices. To be particular, Keith’s gone for a turtleneck; while he looks silly with his sleeves rolled up with his collar hiding the entirety of his neck, Shiro – _anyone_ would be blind to miss the toned arm muscle. The kind of muscle romantics describe as rippling.

The jostling reappears. Pidge nudges Shiro in the back, elbow digging square into his spine, “Stop looking at him like that. Unless you’re making an effort to be obvious,” she hisses. 

“I’m not,” Shiro lies. “I’m making sure that he’s okay.”

“Seeing that he’s fine requires ogling?” He opens his mouth to argue, but is saved by a fellow Slytherin shushing blatantly at them.

Patient as ever, Ryner doesn’t even clear her throat. “Now that everyone’s in their right minds –” instantly the gazes of both Shiro and Pidge snap to their very own Keith Kogane, “– let us begin. You all know this, but as sixth years you are on enroute to adulthood. Every day you near independence, so I prefer for you to _work_ independently. As usual, follow the directions in your book and only ask me questions when vital.”

And as anyone knows: please leave me alone, figure it out for yourselves. This is expected and fine.

Today’s assignment isn’t exactly pleasant however; brutal on the senses and a challenge to care. Thorny, which bristle at movement and sharpen at contact; they make their cousin roses look tame by comparison. Inside of their pot, the plants aren’t exactly stationary and will occasionally snap at the charm that ensnares them. 

In due time, as more of the flowers are brought out, a stench rolls into the air. A good handful of his classmates wisely brought a wood clip, while a smaller still amount must have snagged a surgical mask from the nurse. When he withdrawals his own plant, Shiro grimaces.

It’s a surprise to see that Keith’s nose is bare, albeit Shiro’s nose isn’t covered either. Really, he doesn’t seem to be reacting to the odor at all, versus the collective crinkling of the nose… he chokes around the scent.

Keith notices he’s staring and has the good graces to smile. “So Shiro, how did the assignment go?”

Assignment – “Oh, uh, it went well. With thanks to you.”

Strangely enough, a shy kind of blush rises on Keith’s cheeks. His eyes are averted to the side as he mumbles, “I’m glad Coran told me that my brew was good. Wasn’t too sure about it, to be honest.”

He’s stumped. Although Keith had never been the showboating type, at least not without being provoked, the humility was new.

Shiro winces at his own – well meaning – snort. “You? C’mon, I’m sure you would do fine regardless.”

Slightly nonplussed, Keith scrapes his feet atop the floor. “Give me some credit. It’s not like I had anything to go off of besides the color.”

 _Okay then_ , he thinks in the midst of his confusion.  “Because you couldn’t smell it, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith visibly brightens and Shiro’s heart furrows deeper underground. “It’s really irritating, you know? Not having what everyone else has.”

Through mildly gritted teeth, “A guy like you probably has a line waiting right outside his door. I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you.” There’s an adjacent, audible slap to one’s own face by Pidge.

Momentarily Shiro considers why he does this to himself, but Keith’s smile has dampened. Almost darkly, he asks, “What are you talking about?”

“What are _you_ talking about? So you don’t have someone you like, you just need to give it time.”

Somehow, the red on Keith’s face deepens. “I’m not – it’s not about a crush.” Lightly, he brings a hand to the viper poorly masquerading as a rose, which almost bites at his fingertips. He shushes it, like it’ll listen. When the thorns relax and contrast, he doesn’t look very impressed.

Conversation over, apparently. Wow.

Except, not so from Pidge’s side. In the space of the glass boxes, there’s Pidge, hovering a piece of paper with the glittering words: _ASK HIM!_

Almost on the same page of ‘this is your chance’ in romance movies. At his eyeroll, she eagerly jumps the paper up and down. She makes a noise of utmost frustration when he places a box in the gap.

However briefly, Shiro and Keith simultaneously work in silence. Not tense, because when Shiro can’t help himself but glance at Keith, he looks as though he’s feeling guilty than angry.

And when Keith feels bad, Shiro feels bad. What, exactly, he did wrong is lost on him but getting Keith tangled up in knots is among the very last thing Shiro wants.

“Look, I,” thankfully his mumble catches Keith’s attention so Shiro doesn’t have to raise his voice. “I didn’t mean anything by it, you know.”

Keith sighs; ow, kind of the opposite of what he was hoping for. “No, I get it.”

“Do you?” Shiro asks. “Because I don’t.”

“You’re not interested,” what the fuck, “I know not in me, at least. You don’t have to spell it out.” As if something’s dawned upon him as Shiro’s brain attempts to restart, Keith hurriedly adds and grabs for his flower, “If it’s making you uncomfortable, I can go.”  

“No!” Several of the plants jolt – again, there’s an aggressive shush and Shiro apologetically waves to the direction of the agitated shusher.

“No,” he says, much quieter. “I didn’t realize… you like me.”

“Uh. Well, now it’s out there,” Keith murmurs.

“But you didn’t...”

Keith eyeballs him with the pot still cradled next to his chest. The smell is victorious in all else, from such a proximity. 

He stares at Keith leaning absurdly close to the plant. In some section of his mind, the gears turn.

“Oh my God,” he says, amazement coloring his tone.

“What?”

“Do you not have a sense of smell?” Shiro is trying very hard not to let his eagerness show.

Keith’s eyebrows furrow. “How is that relevant, no, I don’t _–_ ” understanding or likewise horror dawns in his eyes _,_ “ _Shiro did you not realize_.”

“You never told me,” he whispers, or says, with his volume rising due to excitement. “You don’t have a sense of smell!”

“That is correct,” and now the flush is out of secondhand embarrassment, maybe some firsthand for recognizing that yes, he never told Shiro.

“You like me,” a dangerous statement.

“Yes.”

“And I like you.”  

“Y _–_ wait, really?”

“Yes, even though you’re standing almost eye-level next to a very foul-smelling pot right now.”

With virtually no hesitation Keith nearly jettisons it away from his person and Shiro stifles a laugh. Keith settles to put the pot on a ledge and leer at it from there. "The book didn't mention anything about a smell. Do I reek?"

A hesitant sniff;  Keith is absolutely swathed in the scent. "Nah, you're fine. Maybe just spray some cologne on later. But, wow... I hadn't realized. No sense of smell."

Keith grunts. "Means hardly no sense of taste, either. But life's pretty normal for me."

"I guess that explains... a lot. Why wasn't that one of your two truths? Could have saved us a lot of time."

“All of this confusion and clarification because of a potion,” Keith mutters under his breath, with some amount of amusement. “Guess it was worth it since we’re on the same page now.”

“Well, this doesn’t clear everything up about the potion –” Shiro forgot about that, “– I, no, _no_ , I forgot about the potion.”

“What now?” Keith’s dread is palpable.

“You don’t actually like me,” he says and the hopes in dreams shining in Keith’s face shatter under shock, “I’m sorry, but you accidentally drank some love potion.”

Keith crosses his arms with a small huff. “Shiro, I did not drink amortentia.”

Shiro clarifies the obvious, “You don’t have a sense of smell. You must have mixed up the water and the amortentia back in the den, we saw it after. Trust me,” as Keith’s ready to protest, “I was there. Also Lance drank the water thinking it was the potion and he was fine.”

“…okay, so I might have had amortentia. But I do like you out of my own choice.” Kind of judgmentally, Keith adds, “And also, why would you let Lance do that?” 

“As much as I want that to be true,” see: please universe, give him this, “I can’t know for sure. As for Lance, to be honest, he surprised us all with that one.”

“It was yesterday,” Keith says, err, desperately says. “If I was under any effects it’d be over by now. I would have come chasing you down.”

 _Much like what all the books_ say, his mind chimes in. Traitorous. 

“You know that I don’t want to take advantage of you.” Keith’s unimpressed glower, previously directed to a violent plant, makes Shiro shrink.

“Alright,” he says as he’s not walking away from, but towards Shiro. “Alright, you won’t make the first move.”

Quick as always, Keith’s hand shoots up and fists Shiro by the collar. One spindly legs hooks around Shiro’s, another hand reaches and digs in to – okay, Keith is climbing on top of him and in any other situation would be a dream come true.

Okay. God. Shiro doesn’t have the heart nor the time to shove him off and onto the floor and instead closes his eyes and hopes that Keith can forgive him later.

Incredibly careful, he plants a kiss… on Shiro’s cheek. Soft, hardly a touch at all. He opens his eyes to a beet-red Keith, who is still clasped onto him like an anchor.

“Would,” Keith swallows down his apparent nerves, “would that suffice? Proof by not kissing you on the lips?”

Under Keith's weight, he relaxes. It’s a Moment. It’s a Good Moment. 

It’s a Good Moment ruined by a loud wolf-whistle.

Which is immediately followed by the discovery that they have an audience, no thanks to Shiro being tall enough that he can be seen over the drawers. Not a second later Keith jumps off of him, but Ryner rounds inside the corner they’re in.

Unabashedly loud; “Shirogane, Kogane, would you please come forward into my office for a moment?”

Her easy smile makes Shiro’s skin crawl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, oops, 3/4. Not because of a time schedule but because of the wordcount. 
> 
> RL completely and totally kicked my ass, here. DON'T EXPECT FOR IT TO HAPPEN AGAIN.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and critique is always appreciated!


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